


This is a Refuge

by rednights



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Spoilers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednights/pseuds/rednights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas had been kind of nervous about living with a stranger in his college dorms, but he gets more than he asked for in his cute new roommate. Especially when Newt starts waking him up with nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Maze Runner fic *_* so please go easy on me. This was supposed to be a short, dumb thing, but oops. Feelings. Feedback would be much appreciated~

Thomas had had some reservations concerning college. He hadn’t particularly liked high school, and he’d been happy to get out of there, but thinking about college tended to give him all sorts of anxiety. All the new people and new schedules and new responsibilities. It just hadn’t been something he was super stoked for. 

One of his main worries, of course, was living on his own for the first time—and even more than that, living on his own _with a stranger._ He hadn’t nearly had the money to get a single room, so he’d dutifully sent in his matchmaking form to get him paired up with a roommate, and today, for the first time, Thomas would be meeting the guy. 

“Shit, fuck,” happens to be the first words he speaks to his new roommate, managing to ungracefully run over his own foot with his luggage just as he opens the door to his room. 

A boy looks up at him from where he’s sitting crisscross on one of the beds, surrounded by folded clothes and other odds and ends. “Hello to you too,” he says. 

Thomas turns red. Not only because he just made a terrible first impression in front of the guy he is supposed to live with for the next year, but because the guy he is supposed to live with for the next year happens to be...really cute. _‘Shit, fuck’_ is right. “Sorry, um. Ow.” He flexes his poor, crushed toes and winces. “Hi. I’m Thomas.”

The boy smiles slightly, lips pulling up on one side. He isn’t exactly what you would call _stereotypically attractive._ He has a babyish sort of face, a smooth complexion and bright brown eyes and a mop of tousled blond hair. But he’s sort of adorable, and he has an _accent_ , a completely-stereotypically-attractive British accent, and Thomas wishes he didn’t have to be so fucking gay. “Newt,” the boy says. 

“That’s your...your name?” Thomas asks dumbly. _Wow, way to charm a guy._

The boy chuckles softly, nose wrinkling. “That’s what people call me, at least.”

“Um...oh. Okay, cool. Newt.” Thomas nods and fidgets in the doorway. “So…”

“You gonna come in or have you decided to live there in the door?” Newt asks suddenly, voice light with humour. Thomas jumps, face heating up again. 

“Oh, right.” Clearing his throat embarrassedly, Thomas walks into the room, glancing around. It’s a simple, tiny affair—just enough room for two beds, two desks, and two dressers. Newt seems to have already claimed one of each. “So...these are mine?”

“Unless you really want to trade. I’m not picky.” Newt sits back on his hands and watches him, and Thomas squirms. 

“Ah, no, it’s fine. These are fine.” Trying desperately to pull himself together—Thomas has honestly never felt so uncool in his life—he walks over to his bed across the room from Newt’s and drops his suitcase next to it. He faces the wall for a moment, wipes his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans, then turns back to his roommate, who continues to watch him in amused silence. “Sorry,” Thomas says, and he isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for, but it still feels necessary. He takes a step across the room and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Now Newt grins properly and stands up, and Thomas realizes the guy has a good few inches on him, even if he probably weighs less. “Nice to meet you too,” he says amiably, shaking Thomas’ hand with a firm grip. “Is that all you brought, then?” He gestures towards the single suitcase on the ground with his free hand. 

Thomas blinks, then jolts. “Oh, fuck. No, ah, my stepdad is waiting in the car with the rest.” Snatching his hand back quickly, Thomas turns back to the door. “I should probably go get that.”

“Here, I’ll give you a hand.” Newt is beside him in a second, following him out into the hall. “Make sure you don’t run over your own foot again.”

Thomas laughs, half surprised. “Oh, thanks. You really don’t have to.”

“Nah, it’s no trouble.” Newt walks along beside him, and he has a bit of a limp, but Thomas doesn’t ask. 

It only takes one more trip to get all of Thomas’ bags and boxes back to their dorm room, and the two of them chat idly as they walk along trying not to drop anything or run into anyone. Thomas learns that Newt is majoring in Engineering, and that this is his first year, despite the fact that he turns out to be two years older than Thomas. Thomas doesn’t ask about that, either, but Newt just sort of shrugs, hitching the box in his hands higher, and says, “Family stuff got in the way.” 

Thomas nods and leaves it at that, despite the curiosity burning at the back of his skull. 

By the time they get all their stuff into the room and sorted out a bit, it’s almost 7 and Thomas’ stomach is growling fiercely. He scratches his head and chews on his lip for a full minute before saying, “Did you want to grab supper, or…?”

Newt looks up at him from where he’s putting clothes into his dresser. “Together?” he asks, his face the perfect picture of innocence.

Thomas clears his throat. “Um. Yes?”

“Just an hour after we’ve met and you’re already asking me on dates.” Newt’s eyes glitter and his mouth quirks up. “You do come on strong, Tommy.”

Thomas splutters, both at the nickname and at the insinuation. “I’m not—!”

Newt laughs, cutting him off. “I’m joking, Tommy, don’t strain yourself. Yeah, let’s go ‘grab dinner.’”

Shaking his head and trying to reign in his blush, Thomas kicks at him as Newt walks by towards the door. “I will take you down.”

Newt turns back to wiggle his eyebrows tauntingly, then picks up his pace as he passes through the open door. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Thomas stares after him dumbly, then yells, “I’m on the track team! There’s no way in hell you can outrun me!”

“Then come on, I’m hungry!” comes Newt’s voice floating back to him. 

 

Thomas goes to bed feeling proud of himself. Despite his rocky introduction to his attractive new roommate, they’d hit it off pretty well after that, and he’d only made a fool of himself a minimal amount of times throughout the rest of the day. Besides being easygoing and amiable, Newt had turned out to be sarcastic and kind of hilarious, in a quiet, devilish sort of way. He spent half of supper mimicking Thomas’ American accent, as if _he_ was the out-of-place one there, and the other half making snarky comments about things Thomas said. 

Thomas wouldn’t go as far as saying he had a _crush_ just yet, but the fact that he doesn’t care that most of Newt’s amusement comes at Thomas’ expense probably means something. 

After a long day of driving to school with with his stepdad (awkward), moving in, meeting Newt, and trying not to embarrass himself too badly, Thomas falls asleep replaying the day’s events over in his head, cringing at the bad, grinning at the good. 

He wakes up to the sound of movement. 

It takes a while for him to wake up enough to really register it, but once he does, it’s impossible to ignore. Newt is moving restlessly in the other bed across the room, his sheets rustling and breaths harsh, and Thomas squints against the darkness in confusion. A low whine drifts across the room, and for a moment, Thomas thinks his roommate is having a wild wet dream. The thought strikes him dumb for a moment, simultaneously hot with embarrassment and a spark of arousal, but then he realizes that probably isn’t it. That probably isn’t it, because Newt doesn’t sound like he’s enjoying his dream at all. There’s a soft whimper, and a heavy breath, and a whispered “ _no,_ ” and Thomas realizes he’s having a nightmare. 

He’s sitting up in seconds, flicking on the lamp next to his bed to illuminate Newt’s sleeping form with a warm yellowish glow. He’s moving around jerkily, face twisted up in pain, and Thomas clambers out of bed on instinct. Newt cries out more loudly, breaths coming fast, and Thomas barely even hesitates before walking across the room to shake his roommate’s shoulder. 

Newt’s eyes snap open, and his hand shoots out from his twisted sheets to latch onto Thomas’ forearm before he can snatch it back. His grip is tight, blunt nails pressing into Thomas’ skin, and his gasping breaths are almost as loud as Thomas’ pounding heart. 

“Whoa, hey,” Thomas says the moment he finds his voice, too loud in their small room. “It’s just...me.”

Newt’s grip relaxes slightly, and his eyes flutter. His face is a sickly yellow from the lamp. It takes a second for his eyes to focus. “Bloody hell, Tommy,” he breathes, slumping back against his pillow. “I was about to murder you.”

Thomas isn’t sure why he still thrills a little at the nickname, especially given the circumstance. “Are you okay?” he whispers uncertainly. “You were...making noises, and…”

Newt closes his eyes and just breathes for a few moments, body rigid and hand still tight around Thomas’ arm. When he finally opens them again, some of the tension drains out of his limbs, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed to sit up, looking like it pains him to move. “’M sorry,” he mutters, not meeting Thomas’ gaze as he lets go of him at last. Thomas flexes his fingers at the sudden loss. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you.”

Thomas hesitates, then sits down next to him gingerly, a couple inches of space between them. He’s not feeling particularly sleepy anymore. “You were...anticipating that?”

Newt scratches at his neck, sighing. At least he doesn’t tell Thomas to leave him alone. “Well, I was bloody well hoping it wouldn’t happen, but I wasn’t counting on it.” 

“Is this a...common occurrence?” Thomas immediately bites his tongue. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, it’s personal—” 

Newt waves him off immediately. “Nah, you might as well know if you’re going to be my roommate.” He continues staring at the ground, and Thomas wishes he had put a shirt on when he woke up. “Not that there’s much to tell. I have chronic nightmares. For the past year or so. Real manly of me, right?”

“It’s fine,” Thomas says quickly. “Nightmares are fucking scary.”

Newt laughs bitterly. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Thomas tries to reassure him. “Just, uh. Try to get some sleep and all that.”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry for waking you.” 

“It’s honestly no problem.” Swallowing hard, Thomas stands and crosses the room to his own bed, trying not to notice how young and vulnerable Newt looks, dressed in his oversized sleep shirt and sitting on the edge of his mattress. “Uh. Goodnight.”

Newt doesn’t move, eyes closed again as he just sits there and breathes, slow and even. His hand moves to his chest, over his heart, and Thomas thinks he might be counting beats. 

“Um, should I...turn off the light?” Thomas asks, pulling his blanket up to his chin. 

Newt is quiet for another long moment, and then he lets out a long breath and says, “Yeah, go for it.” He climbs back under his own covers as Thomas flicks off the lamp. Then, from the darkness, a quiet, “Thanks, Tommy.”

Thomas hums out a soft assent, and that’s all he gets out before he drifts back to sleep. 

 

They don’t mention the nightmare in the morning. Or at all, ever. Newt is back to being impish and sarcastic as they get breakfast together, and Thomas isn’t going to bring it up, so he just sort of forgets about it.

Classes don’t start until the next day, but Thomas has track practice already, so that’s where he goes, bright and early. 

Most of the team is older than him, and Thomas feels a little nervous as he stretches before practice, watching the others, trying to pick out other freshmen to maybe make friends with. He tries not to look terrified, because that’s not an attractive look, but he must fail, because the next moment one of the other team members walks over to him and sticks out a hand. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “You must be new. I’m Minho.”

The guy is obviously built like an athlete, with strong legs and arms, but his smile is easygoing and genuine, and unlike with Newt, Thomas doesn’t feel intimidated by his attractiveness. He straightens from where he’s stretching his quads and shakes his hand, grinning back. “Hey, yeah. Thomas.”

“Nice to meet you, Thomas. You can run?”

“I sure hope so,” Thomas laughs. 

“Then we’ll get along fine,” Minho says with a crooked smile. “I’m in my second year. I can be your training mentor, if you want.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Every freshman gets one.”

“Yeah? That’d be awesome, thanks.” Thomas exhales in relief. 

“Just run when I tell you to run, and you’ll be fine,” Minho tells him. His voice is a mixture of authoritative and kind, and Thomas likes him immediately. “If you don’t, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Yes sir,” Thomas says, throwing up a cheeky salute, and Minho laughs, clapping him on the shoulder and shaking it slightly.

Two friends in two days (and he’s only sort of developed a crush on one). Thomas thinks he’s doing pretty well for himself. 

 

“Tommy! Hey!”

Thomas’ head swivels in the direction of the now-familiar voice like a dog to its owner. He feels a little ashamed of how his heart skips just at the sound of it, and even more ashamed of how wide he grins when he sees Newt waving at him across the dining hall. He makes a beeline for his table, precariously balancing his tray in one hand to wave at the two girls he finds seated with him. “Hey Newt. Hi Bren, hi Teresa.”

“He gets a _‘hey’_ and we only get _‘hi’_?” Brenda asks, eyebrows raised and lips quirked. 

“Yes,” Thomas says, sitting down across from them, next to Newt. He’d met the two girls, both fellow freshmen (freshwomen?) in Engineering with Newt, on their second day of classes. They’re friendly and chatty, but neither of them seem overly interested in either Thomas _or_ Newt. Which is a relief. Kind of. 

They’re well into their second week of classes now, and things are going well. Minho says he’s doing well in his training for track, he’s on top of things in his classes, he’s made some friends. He’s really settling down at school. 

He’s also settling down into this stupid crush on his roommate, which is probably not good. He’s somehow convinced himself that this is fine and will have no negative consequences whatsoever and he doesn’t need to do something about it, and he is wrong, but he doesn’t care. Now he’s went and gotten all fond of the guy and his smirky face and his quietly snarky attitude. He wants to be best friends with Newt, because Newt is stupidly cool and super nice and doesn’t take shit from anybody, but now he also wants to date Newt, which is bad. But inevitable, probably. Thomas can’t be blamed for wanting it. Any sane person would.

“You look exhausted, Newt,” Teresa says suddenly, breaking Thomas out of his embarrassing crush-induced reverie. “What time did you go to bed?”

“Blame this prick,” Newt says, and he really does look tired as he jabs a thumb towards Thomas. “Kept me up all bloody night.”

“That is a blatant lie,” Thomas interjects, elbowing him gently in the side. But he doesn’t really push it, because technically Thomas _had_ woken him up last night, after he woke up to his roommate thrashing around in bed. They’d sat together watching episodes of Doctor Who on Thomas’ laptop for the next hour, until Newt said he wanted to go back to bed, and that had been it. From the looks of him now, though, he didn’t fall straight back to sleep afterwards. 

“Oh yeah?” Brenda says, ignoring Thomas’ objection completely and wiggling her eyebrows. “Do give us details of your sordid nightlife.”

Thomas chokes, and Newt laughs. “He can’t keep his hands off me,” Newt says, and Thomas grabs him by the neck to shake him. “See!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas says, rolling his eyes but letting go as quickly as he can without it looking suspicious. He really hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. “You’re irresistible.”

“Do try to restrain yourself around the girls, though, Tommy,” Newt says, still completely composed as he continues eating his lunch, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“It’ll be a struggle,” Thomas intones, going back to his food before he makes a complete fool of himself. As much as he enjoys the banter and exploring Newt’s sarcastic, flirty side, it’s kind of a dangerous area for him, currently. 

“You two are adorable,” Brenda sighs, resting her chin on one hand. 

“Aren’t we just?” Newt pulls a dry face, and Thomas has to laugh. 

The nightmares haven’t been constant. It’s only happened twice since the first time, and each time Thomas has woken Newt up and sat with him for a while, as long as Newt wants, because nightmares are scary as fuck and Thomas is pretty sure it helps to have someone around to normalize the situation and remind you that you’re awake. They never talk about it during the day. They hardly even talk about it when it happens. 

It keeps them up and makes both of them tired, but Thomas guiltily kind of looks forward to them, in a way, because it means he gets to sit close to Newt and feel close to him and sometimes touch him—arms pressed together as they share a tiny screen, a hand resting briefly on Newt’s knee to bring him back to reality when he zones out. Thomas knows it’s awful for Newt, and he does feel bad that his roommate has to deal with this kind of stuff, but he likes those moments of closeness in the aftermath. He kind of wants them all the time. 

“Tommy? Still with us there?”

Thomas snaps back to attention, caught in the middle of a daydream once again. “Huh?”

“Oh, of course he reacts when _Newt_ calls him.” Teresa snorts. 

“Always,” Thomas replies cheekily, automatically, and Newt snickers. 

“We were asking if you were going to the mixer tonight,” Brenda says. “You know. To make friends and stuff.”

“Oh. Nah.” Thomas picks at his food. “I already have enough friends.”

“Well said,” Newt agrees, and steals a fry off his plate. 

“Right, yeah, one friend is _more_ than enough,” Teresa says, rolling her eyes. 

“They only need each other, T,” Brenda tells her. 

“True that.” Newt grins. “While you guys go to your godawful mixer, Tommy and I will go on a Mate Date, and we won’t even think of you once.”

“A _Mate Date?_ ” 

“I have more than one friend,” Thomas interjects uselessly, perhaps to draw attention away from his warm face. 

“Yeah, it’s a date for mates.” Newt tips his water at the girls pointedly. 

“Okay, if _mates_ is what they’re calling them these days,” Brenda snickers. 

Newt raises his eyebrows at her suggestively, and Thomas almost spits out his drink. 

“I did not agree to this yet,” he objects. 

“Pen it into your day planner, Tommy. Mate Date. 7 o’clock. Be there.” 

“Where?”

“Our room.”

“Sounds wild,” Teresa teases. 

“You are all terrible,” Thomas tells them.

“Bloody awful,” Newt agrees. 

Thomas stuffs food into his mouth to hide his smile. 

 

Newt’s “Mate Date” turns out to be playing two-player video games on an emulator on Newt’s laptop and consuming enough popcorn for six people, like a bunch of party animals. It’s stupidly fun, though, and Thomas barely stops laughing for more than five minutes all night, snorting at Newt’s obvious attempts to cheat and yelling dramatically when his character dies. 

A couple attempts to distract one another via minor injury turns into a short tussle and a headlock, with Newt calling uncle and scrambling away to sulk on his bed, a hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. “I feel like shit,” he says, not sounding altogether upset about it. “Maybe the popcorn was a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Thomas agrees, picking up unpopped kernels from the floor and flicking them at his roommate. 

“Wait till I tell Brenda about the wrestling, though,” Newt says, and he grins at Thomas just as he chokes on a snort. 

“Oh, she’ll love that.”

“I’ll be sure to add unnecessary and probably false details.”

Thomas laughs, draining the rest of his coke and tossing the can into the recycling. “You’re the worst roommate.”

“You loooove me, Tommy. You adore me.”

Thomas shakes his head with a grin and pulls his shirt off to cover his warm face. “I’m going to bed,” he tells Newt pointedly. 

“Oh, I thought you were stripping for me.” Newt’s voice is maddeningly steady and light. 

“Maybe next time,” Thomas tells him, and pulls on his old high school t-shirt for bed. 

Having a crush on his roommate wouldn’t be nearly as difficult if Newt didn’t spend half his time jokingly trying to seduce him, to be honest. Or potentially _actually_ trying to seduce him, but Thomas isn’t going to get his hopes up. For now, he just tries to play along and act natural—or what he assumes is natural. It’s easy, bantering back and forth and generally acting like idiots, but sometimes Thomas has to remind himself who he’s with, what he’s doing, what it _means._ Which is nothing. Probably. It probably means nothing. 

They both go to bed after that—Newt is probably even more tired than Thomas feels—and Thomas drops off to sleep quickly, glad that it’s Friday and he has nowhere to be until afternoon track practice tomorrow.

He wakes up to the now-familiar sound of sheets rustling and heavy breaths. 

It sounds worse than usual tonight. Newt’s noises are more pained, more desperate, and he sounds like he’s on the brink of hyperventilation. He groans pitifully, and Thomas slides out of bed and flicks on his lamp before crossing the room dutifully. 

“Newt. Hey, Newt. Wake up, it’s okay.”

His roommate jerks awake with a gasp, as usual. He stares up at Thomas with wide, wet eyes, and Thomas offers him a reassuring smile. “Bloody hell,” Newt exhales as he slowly catches his breath. “Two nights in a row? That’s just brilliant, isn’t it.”

“You wanna get up?” Thomas asks uncertainly. “We can hang out for a while.”

“God, yeah.” Newt stiffly sits up, his blanket falling from his shoulders, and Thomas takes a seat next to him, maybe a little closer than is strictly necessary. 

“Do you want to watch something?” Thomas asks, blinking hard against the sleepiness tugging at his eyelids. “Or we can just sit here, or whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

Newt chuckles softly, a little strained. Thomas can see how he’s shaking. “Just...give me a minute,” the older boy says, running a hand through his hair. “I feel like I’m about to die.”

“That bad?” Thomas asks uncertainly. He’s never sure if he’s allowed to ask stuff like that. He doesn’t want to pry, but he can’t deny that he’s insanely curious. 

“Bloody awful,” Newt assures him, rubbing his hand over his face. He looks gaunt in the yellowish lamp light. “That one’s gonna stick around.”

Thomas stretches his arms over his head and yawns, shifting a little closer in the process. “Is it, you know, the same dream every time?”

Newt shakes his head, sucking in another steadying breath. “Nah. Sometimes repeats, but usually a little different. Just scary shit.”

Thomas hums in response, not wanting to push his luck by asking anymore questions. They’re both quiet for a while, with Newt clearly trying to get a hold of himself. 

Then, out of nowhere, his roommate says, “My mum died. Bout a year and a half back.”

“Huh?” Thomas jerks out of a sort of half-doze, blinking at him. 

“That’s when the nightmares started.” Newt runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes tightly. “She was sick for a long time, which is why I didn’t start uni fresh out of secondary school, but her dying was more...traumatic than expected, I guess.” He puffs out a humourless laugh. “My whole family struggled a lot. Somehow, I got it worst. Bloody depression and shit, meds that gave me even crazier dreams. It’s a lot better now but...the nightmares stuck around.” 

“I’m sorry,” Thomas murmurs, not sure what else to say. 

“Naw, it’s alright. Just figured you should know why I’m such a mess.” He smiles tightly, and his hands tighten over his knees, fingers digging into the fabric of his pajama pants. 

He looks so incredibly tense, and his jaw is clenched, and it’s so opposite of his usual laidback, easygoing personality. Thomas wishes he could do something to help, something to help him calm down, to relax and sleep, _peacefully_ , without his mind conjuring up images of death and horror. 

Without thinking, he reaches out his hand towards Newt, and it hovers above the older boy’s for a long second before Thomas realizes what he’s doing and withdraws it quickly. No. No, no, he is not going to _hold Newt’s hand._ That would be way too weird. Wouldn’t it? God, he almost just ruined everything he’s been trying to keep for the past few weeks. 

Newt glances at him briefly, face unreadable, and Thomas holds his breath and tries to pretend nothing just happened. He’s not sure if Newt realized what he had almost done, but he’s not going to say anything if Newt doesn’t. 

And he doesn’t. They both stay silent for a few more minutes, and then Newt says he can go back to bed if he wants. 

“What are you gonna do?” Thomas asks, frowning in concern. 

“Catch up with my friend the Doctor, probably.”

“Oh, well in that case. Room for one more?” 

Newt grins and shifts over on his bed, grabbing his laptop and booting it up, and Thomas slides in close beside him. He’s probably going to fall asleep while they watch, but he doesn’t care, because this is another few minutes he can spend with his roommate without things being weird, and he’s going to take it.

 

The next day, Thomas is still thinking about the night’s events as he stretches for track practice, turning over every word they said, every glance Newt threw his way. Thomas could win medals in overanalyzing. 

He gets stuck on whether or not he should have taken Newt’s hand or not. It would have been too weird, right? Less comforting and more _I’m coming onto you in a very gay way when you are feeling particularly vulnerable._ Right? Straight, just-friends guys don’t hold hands. He’s pretty sure. 

He’s still trying to decide how weird it would have been when he spots Minho jogging over, waving, and take the spot next to him. “Hey,” the older runner says cheerfully. 

Without a word of greeting or warning, Thomas straightens and takes a step towards him, reaches out, and grabs his hand. 

For a long moment, Minho just stares at him, face devoid of emotion, and Thomas stares back. Then, finally, “Yes, Thomas?”

Thomas sort of belatedly realizes how bizarre this is. But it’s just Minho. “Oh, nothing,” he says, and doesn’t retract his hand. 

“Do you have something to confess?” Minho asks, a grin starting to tug at his lips as he glances down at their joined hands. 

“Yes. I’m madly in love with you.”

Minho snorts. “Knew it.”

“I just can’t help myself,” Thomas says, struggling to keep his face straight. 

“I have that effect on people.”

Thomas’ countenance breaks, and he laughs, finally letting go of Minho’s hand. The older boy doesn’t let go, though, tightening his hold and pulling Thomas closer. “What?”

“I’m going to kiss you, of course.” Minho grins. 

“Ack! No!” Thomas yanks his hand back with a laugh, but Minho grabs him by the arm, continues trying to reel him in with obnoxious kissy noises. “Gross, stop!”

“Come on, Thomas, don’t be shy,” Minho cackles, pulling him forwards to hook an arm around his neck. 

Thomas struggles violently, twisting and stepping on Minho’s foot as he laughs and tries to get the older boy into a headlock. “Let go of me, you piece of—” 

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” 

Thomas jerks around at the sound of the familiar voice, shocked to see Newt leaning against the fence that surrounds the track, squinting against the sun. He gives Minho’s arm a last pinch before straightening up and grinning. “Hey!” he says, not even trying to hide his pleasure at seeing his roommate. “What are you doing here?”

Newt smiles, tilting his head slightly as Thomas approaches. “Came to watch you, Tommy. Is that a crime?”

Behind Thomas, Minho snorts. “‘ _Tommy’_?”

Thomas kicks out at him. “Newt, this is Minho, the Asshole of the Team. Minho, Newt, my roommate.” 

“Don’t pretend you haven’t already told me all about him,” Minho says, smirking. 

Thomas clears his throat embarrassedly, but Newt just says, “Likewise. You’re a sophomore, right?”

Minho nods, and Thomas cheekily says, “You know me. All about them hot older boys.”

Newt snickers. “Oh yeah? This guy and who else?”

Thomas opens his mouth and freezes, heart faltering as he begins to say something about his hot roommate, then immediately bails, panicking. 

Before he can make up his mind, a sharp whistle blasts, and their track coach yells, “Alright, everyone get over here!”

Relief washes over Thomas at the miraculous save. “Gotta go!” he says, waving. “See you.”

“See ya, Tommy.” Newt waves back, smiling, and Thomas turns to join Minho and the rest of the team. 

“So that’s him, huh?” Minho says, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully. 

Thomas doesn’t like the look the older boy is giving him. “What?” 

“He’s cute,” Minho says airily, ignoring him, and Thomas goes red as they jog over to the track. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, and Minho laughs. 

 

The next few weeks go by in a blur of track practice, Thomas’ first races as a college student, assignments, classes, and hanging-out-slash-fake-flirting with Newt. His roommate wakes him up a couple times a week from violent nightmares, and Thomas wakes him up in return, sitting with him for as long as Newt needs. They eat meals together when they can, and hang out sometimes in the evening or on weekends, if they aren’t up to their eyeballs in schoolwork. They complain about professors and Thomas grumbles about being sore and Newt makes embarrassing innuendoes about it to Brenda and Teresa. Minho does the same when Thomas massages his waist during practice. The whole world is out to, well, out him. 

Not that anyone actually explicitly asks Thomas if he’s gay or wildly into his cute roommate, but they sure do jokingly insinuate it. 

The problem is, of course, that Newt _only_ ever insinuates it jokingly, which means that Thomas has absolutely no idea if he’s actually serious about liking Thomas back at all.

One day, though, Thomas completely forgets he has a midterm coming up until the day before, and he totally freaks out, in that I’m-going-to-fail-and-have-to-drop-out kind of way. He’s lying face-down on his bed and groaning when Newt comes in, back from showering and smelling all nice and damp and soapy, and demands to know what’s wrong with him. 

“I’m screwed,” Thomas moans into his pillow, and decides it might be best to _not_ look at Newt right now. 

“Yeah, and crying into your blanket’s bloody well going to fix things, isn’t it,” Newt says, voice laced with amusement. 

“Shut up, I’m having a crisis.”

“Aw, get up you big baby. Let’s start revising now, and you’ll be fine.”

Thomas turns his head to peek out at Newt. “ _‘Let’s’_?” 

“Well you’re clearly not doing so well on your own,” Newt says, sitting down on the edge of Thomas’ bed and smacking his ass too hard to be flirty. “So get up and I’ll help your sorry arse.”

“You are wonderful,” Thomas says as he scrambles to sit up, grabbing his textbook from his nightstand. 

“I really do try,” Newt tells him smugly. 

They spend the entire evening studying together, poring over textbook pages and reciting facts and looking up definitions, and Thomas falls asleep on Newt’s shoulder two different times before they decide to turn in for the night. He blushes and apologizes both times, but Newt just smiles and waves him off. 

“Go to bed. We can get up early tomorrow morning and study some more, yeah? Your exam isn’t until noon.” 

“Did I already tell you you’re wonderful?” Thomas asks, and he thinks there might be literal hearts in his eyes, but Newt doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Yeah yeah, there’s a lot of love going round here. Go to bed.”

Thomas gets under his covers a moment later, and so does Newt across the room, and after a full minute of silence, Thomas whispers, “You’re wonderful,” and Newt cracks up laughing in the darkness. 

But really, though. He is. 

 

“Seriously, Minho, I really don’t party.”

“Thomas, how would you _know_ if you party or not if you’ve never tried it?” Minho claps a hand on his shoulder. “You honestly just go and hang out with your friends if you’re not going to drink or mingle.”

“Yeah? You’re going to stand around with me the entire night so I don’t get lonely?” Thomas tries fruitlessly to tug his arm out of Minho’s iron grip as the older boy drags him across campus. 

“Aw, come on Thomas. Live a little! You’re in college! Make some friends!” Minho ruffles his hair, like Thomas is his ridiculous little brother. 

“I _have_ made friends,” Thomas objects. “You’re my friend. Newt’s my friend. Teresa and Brenda are my friends.”

“Four friends in three months, _wow_ ,” Minho says with a laugh. “Anyway, lucky for you, I think I heard whisperings that some freshmen Engineering students were going to be there.”

Thomas immediately stops struggling. “Newt’s gonna be there?”

Minho snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. “Funny how you’re more interested in your roommate than the two girls.”

Thomas slugs him in the arm and tries not to blush. “Shut it. They’re really going to be there?”

“Well, you’ll just have to go and see.”

Thomas groans, but he resignedly follows Minho to the apartment just off campus where someone’s hosting some sort of party or another. Most of the people there can’t even legally drink, and Thomas _hates_ mingling, but if Newt is in there, well. It’s not like he has anywhere else to be. 

Minho abandons him a minute after they walk into the place, and Thomas cusses him out under his breath while he wanders around in search of someone he knows. When he passes by the kitchen, he hesitantly steps in, unsure if there’s anything non-alcoholic in the entire building. 

A familiar and very welcome face looks up at him from the table. “Tommy! Hey!”

It’s like a breath of fresh air in this crowded, stifling building. “Newt. Thank god.”

“What’re you doing here?” Newt walks up to him with a grin. “I thought you were practicing for your big race tomorrow or whatever.” 

“Yeah, we uh, just got out.” Thomas jerks his thumb back, as if Minho is anywhere in the general vicinity. “The Asshole made me come.”

“You poor thing.” Newt laughs softly, then holds up his red solo cup. “You want a drink?”

Thomas winces. “Oh, I actually don’t—”

“Neither do I,” Newt says, grinning. “This is grape soda.”

Thomas has to laugh at that. “Alright, in that case, yeah. Hook me up.”

They get him a cup of coke, and then Newt leads him out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Brenda and Teresa are sitting with their own drinks and a couple other people Thomas doesn’t know. Newt claims the only open seat on the couch, and Thomas settles for perching awkwardly on the couch arm next to him, his hip pressed to Newt’s shoulder. 

They all chat for a while, until Thomas drains his cup and goes in search of another, just for something to keep his hands busy. He fills it up with the punch from the bowl, which smells relatively alcohol-free, then makes his way back, only to get intercepted by Minho and a couple of the other track guys. They talk about tomorrow’s meet for a bit before he escapes, wandering back to the living room. 

As he nears, Newt’s voice calls out. “Oi, Tommy! C’mere!” 

“What?” Thomas shoulders his way through the crowd to get to them. 

Newt is grinning, and both Teresa and Brenda are laughing behind their hands. “Turn around. Show off your arse.”

“Uh. What?” Thomas feels his face get hot, but Newt just nods. “Are you sure there’s no alcohol in that cup?”

Newt laughs. “No, no. We were talking about people with nice arses and I nominated you. No one believes me, so I have to prove them wrong.” He turns to the girls. “He’s my roommate, of course I know whether he has a nice arse or not.”

Okay, now Thomas’ face is _seriously_ hot. Coughing and scratching his neck, he turns at Newt’s continued prompting. He’d changed into jeans after practice, so thankfully he’s not wearing his unflattering track pants, and there’s a chorus of approving whistles and laughing catcalls behind him. He quickly turns back to the group, chuckling awkwardly, and sits down. 

“Who else made it onto the list, then?” he asks, hoping to turn all the attention away from himself.

Brenda and Teresa immediately go into a rant about their nominations and who they picked out of the crowd surrounding them, and Thomas laughs and nods along, but mostly he throws glances at Newt, who occasionally catches him and smiles or tips his cup at him or lifts his eyebrows like he’s expecting Thomas to say something. Thomas usually just grins back and looks away. He honestly isn’t sure what he’s looking for. 

When people start talking about roommates, though, Thomas is fucked, because Newt starts talking about him all fondly, bringing up dumb little stories about him sharing his Doritos and making Newt’s bed for him. He has this warm look in his eyes, and he imitates Thomas’ accent flawlessly, and Thomas kind of wants to kiss his cute smirky face forever. It’s bad. 

“I want a cute younger roommate,” Brenda sighs, grinning at Newt and Thomas indulgently. 

“Yeah, seriously. Sign me up,” Teresa agrees. 

Newt laughs. “No, no, he’s actually not all that.”

“Hey,” Thomas objects.

“Please, Newt, you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes extolling his virtues,” Brenda snorts. 

“He leaves sweaty clothes lying round, though,” Newt says. “Smells awful. And his shoes bloody _reek._ ” 

“They do not!” Thomas argues immediately, even though they probably do. 

“And he snores!”

“That is a lie!”

Newt laughs. “That’s what you think!”

“I don’t snore!” Thomas’ voice carries no bite, softened by the grin he can’t keep off his face. 

“Sure, sure, tell the girls that,” Newt says, winking. 

“Yeah, well, at least _I_ don’t wake up screaming from nightmares every night,” Thomas laughs. 

Newt’s face darkens immediately, the grin sliding off his face, and Thomas realizes a moment too late that he _really_ shouldn’t have said that. Fuck. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go get another drink.” Newt holds up his empty cup and stands, disappearing a moment later into the crowd. 

Thomas gets to his feet quickly. “Yeah, same,” he says, not even looking at the girls as he pushes his way to the kitchen, looking for his roommate. 

He doesn’t find him there, though, and Thomas’ stomach sinks. “ _Fuck,_ ” he whispers, turning and dropping his cup into the closest garbage can. His head feels a little light and poundy, and he thinks there was probably more alcohol in that punch than he thought. He needs to find Newt. 

He spots a head of blond hair disappearing through the front door, and he has to wade back through the crowd to get there. “Newt!” he calls as soon as he makes it out the door, jogging to catch up with the older boy. 

Newt doesn’t turn around, even when Thomas catches up with him and grabs his arm. “Go back to the party, Tommy.”

“No, wait,” Thomas says breathlessly. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“No, _I’m_ sorry.” Newt turns then, jaw clenched. “I didn’t know the bloody nightmares were a joke to you. Don’t bother waking me anymore. I’ll deal with it on my own. Sleep in the bathroom or something.”

Thomas winces, heart clenching. “Newt, no, wait. I’m really— I don’t know why I said that. I was being an idiot.”

Newt sighs, sounding tired. He probably is, honestly. Thomas always wonders if he wakes up at night without Thomas noticing, or if he ever can’t fall asleep in the first place. It’s entirely possible. They’ve never discussed it. “No, I get it,” he says. “It’s a great joke. _My 20-year-old roommate has scary nightmares every night about his mum that died, and everyone dying, and all sorts of shit._ Real funny.”

“Newt, please, that’s not it,” Thomas says desperately. “I know it’s not funny. It’s not a joke.”

“Just...leave it, Tommy,” Newt says, turning away again, walking briskly towards their dorm. “Go back to the party. ‘M going to bed.” 

Thomas sighs as he watches Newt stride away and seriously starts to rethink his life choices. 

An hour later, he returns to their dorm room to find the lights already out, and he trips into his pajamas and climbs into bed feeling very bad about himself, and very lost about how to fix it. 

 

Of _course_ Newt has a nightmare that night. Of course, it couldn’t wait for Thomas to get this figured out, or let it blow over. He has to be woken up by harsh breaths and pained whimpers, and decide on the spot what he’s going to do about it. Newt told him to just leave it. To not wake him up anymore. 

But Thomas can’t do that. 

A moment later he’s out of bed and shaking his roommate awake, and Newt is staring up at him with laboured breaths. “Bloody fucking fuck,” is what he says as soon as he realizes what happened. “Of course, tonight.”

Thomas has to grin a little, despite himself. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You wanna sit up a bit?”

“There were bloody fucking _needles_ ,” Newt says, closing his eyes tightly again as he untangles himself from his sheets. “I _hate_ needles.”

“I feel you, man.” Thomas watches him closely, sitting down beside him like he always does. Newt doesn’t usually talk about his dreams in any detail, so Thomas isn’t going to stop him if he wants to.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” Newt lets his face fall into his hands. “This is fantastic.”

They’re both silent for a while, and Thomas has to gather his nerve before he takes a deep breath and says, “Look. Newt. I’m really, _really_ sorry about what happened tonight. At the party. That was a shitty thing for me to say, and to bring it up with all those people, and I was maybe a little bit tipsy but that’s honestly no excuse and I’m sorry. It’s not a joke. I know it fucking sucks for you, and I don’t want you to think I ever look down on you or anything because I don’t. Ever. I would never do that. So just...I’m sorry.” He knows he probably sounds like a broken record but he can’t think of anything else to say, so instead he reaches out and grabs Newt’s wrist and holds on tight, thinking maybe he can transfer his genuine regret through osmosis or something. Or maybe Thomas just wants to touch him. 

Newt looks up at him, eyes wide and brown and impossible to read in the low light, and Thomas stops breathing. 

“Sorry,” Thomas whispers again.

Newt blinks, then quietly says, “I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

“What?”

And instead of responding, Newt leans in and presses their lips together, firmly enough that it couldn’t possibly be misconstrued as an accident. Thomas’ heart pounds violently, and he keeps his mouth closed and his eyes open, too shocked to do anything else. 

“Uh,” he says when Newt pulls back, eyes locked on Thomas’ and wrist still wrapped in his hand. Newt doesn’t respond, just waits. Thomas’ head spins. He’s not sure if it’s from surprise or whatever it was he drank tonight, but he thinks it might be the latter because suddenly he kind of wants to throw up, too. Newt just kissed him? Out of nowhere? Wasn’t he just _mad_ at Thomas for being a thoughtless, insensitive bastard? Not that Thomas isn’t _happy_ because he has honestly fantasized about this quite a few times in the past months and it’s all very exciting, but it also feels kind of surreal because it’s the middle of the night and Thomas isn’t sure he’s all the way awake or sober. He wants to kiss the living shit out of this boy, but this probably isn’t the best time for...this. He wants to be completely awake and aware for this. 

Which is why he says, “Um. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning?”

Newt looks away and nods, and he does an amazing job of not showing a single emotion on his face. It’s maddening, really. But Thomas isn’t certain _he’s_ completely sober either (even if he’s pretty sure Newt only drank soda), and he just woke up from what was probably a horrifying dream, and it really, _really_ isn’t the best time for this. 

Thomas thinks he should probably clear some stuff up first, like the fact that he’s been crushing on his roommate hardcore for months now, but he’s honestly so dazed and shocked that he can’t. So he nods, gets up, and turns off the lamp to go to bed. 

 

When he wakes up, Newt’s bed is empty, even though it’s _Saturday_ , and there’s a note on Thomas’ desk, written in neat handwriting on a blue sticky note. 

**_I can move out if you want. No hard feelings mate._**

Thomas laughs, because this is so ridiculous and frustrating and potentially _bad._ This needs to be fixed, pronto. 

He leaves a note over top of Newt’s before grabbing his track shoes and sprinting out the door, late for his pre-meet practice. 

**_Really gotta talk to you. Come to my race today or I’ll kick your ass._**

 

Thomas wins his race. It’s thrilling, because he probably isn’t the best on his team, and to be honest he hasn’t won that many races so far in the season, but Thomas thinks it might be just because he’s so eager to get to the end. 

He crosses the finish line with his hands in the air, but he’s already looking around at the mostly-empty bleachers and the surrounding area. He spots who he’s looking for behind the fence, leaning against the chainlink and watching in silence. 

“Hey,” Thomas breathes as he jogs up to stand in front of Newt. “You came.”

“Didn’t much feel like getting my arse kicked,” Newt says with a shrug and the ghost of a smile.

Thomas laughs softly. “Yeah. Hey.” He swallows hard. “Are you gay?”

Newt’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “What?”

Well. That wasn’t how he’d been planning on saying it, but no backing out now. “Are you gay?” Thomas asks again, heart pounding from more than just his run.

“Tommy, really, is this the place…”

“Just answer.”

Newt snorts. “Bi, actually, thanks.”

“Do you like me?”

Newt hesitates now, stares at Thomas for a good long second before he says, “I think it’s bloody well obvious that I do. No need to make me admit it in front of the whole school.”

Thomas laughs, feeling a little giddy. “Hardly anyone comes to these things,” he says, and then he leans in to kiss him at last. 

And he doesn’t stop kissing him. He vaguely registers a whoop and a wolf whistle, but he barely hears it over the surprised sound that Newt makes, and then the pleased noise when Thomas tilts his head and kisses him again, hands going up to curl into blond hair. There’s still a fence in between them, but Thomas presses as close to it as he can, shuddering when Newt hooks a hand behind his neck to hold him steady. 

They kiss until they’re both breathless, and even then, it’s Newt that pulls away, and Thomas tries to chase his mouth. He’s grinning, eyes sparkling. “Don’t you have another race to run?”

“Hmm,” Thomas says vaguely, and tries to pull him forward again. 

He gets in one kiss before Newt’s backing up again. “Like me that much?” he teases. 

“You honestly have no idea,” Thomas tells him seriously, suddenly wanting to kiss every inch of his face. 

Newt chuckles and pats his cheek. “Get back on the track, people are staring.”

Thomas releases him begrudgingly, biting his lip. “I’ll see you later,” he says, walking backwards. 

“Alright. Bastard.”

Thomas blows him a cheeky kiss, then turns to jog back towards his team. 

Minho smirks at him, eyebrows raised, and Thomas just punches him in the arm. 

 

“Did you know that you’re actually the most adorable person I know?”

Newt laughs from where Thomas has him backed up against their dorm room door. “Brilliant, that’s exactly what a grown bloke likes to hear.”

“No, I’m serious. Even when you look hot, you look cute. Have you seen your angry face? Fucking adorable.”

“Thank you, thank you. I got it from my mum.” Newt tilts his head to the side to allow Thomas better access to his neck, where he’s working on sucking a mark that will hopefully be there for days. 

“You sarcastic piece of shit. All I get in response to my well-formulated compliments is your British sass.”

Newt’s laugh turns into a groan when Thomas pushes his hands under the hem of his shirt. “Please, Tommy. I’ve been heaping compliments on you since day one.”

“What, like telling me I have a nice ass?” Thomas’ lips go back up to Newt’s as if drawn there magnetically, stealing a couple kisses before the older boy can respond. 

“Mmm, the nicest,” Newt hums when he gets the chance, hands clutching at Thomas’ arms. “And a bloody amazing body in general. Yes _please._ ”

Thomas flushes hot and pulls back to tug his t-shirt over his head before he has the chance to talk himself out of it. Newt leans against the door and watches, looking more than pleased as he runs a hand through thoroughly mussed hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and there’s a bruise forming on the base of his neck, and Thomas can barely keep his hands off him. 

Before he can dive back in, though, his phone vibrates in his back pocket, and Thomas pulls it out quickly, frowning. It’s from Minho. 

**_get that dick, tom!_ **

“Oh my god.” He laughs breathily, chucking it in the direction of his bed. 

“Who dares distract my hot new boyfriend from his task of thoroughly debauching me?” Newt asks, eyebrows raised. 

Thomas goes red for a number of reasons, and Newt steps forward to capture his lips again, nudging him towards his own bed until he topples down onto the mattress. Newt follows close behind him, one hand in Thomas’ hair as he kisses the breath from his lungs, his tongue as wicked as his lips. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” Thomas manages to say the next time they come up for air. 

“Yeah, and you better like it, you bastard. I flirted my arse off to get here. And suffered a whole lot of embarrassment, thanks.”

Thomas laughs, shaking his head fondly. “I do, I do,” he assures him. And he _really does_. 

“Good. Now shut up, I’m trying to kiss you into a coma or something.” 

He doesn’t quite succeed in doing that, but they do make out for the next hour straight, and Newt loses his shirt at some point, and Thomas gets to feel him up to his heart’s content, warm skin and long muscles and soft sounds of pleasure, and as far as days go, this just might have been Thomas’ best. 

He tells Newt this, sprawled together on Newt’s bed, too lazy and happy to get up, and the older boy says, “Just wait till tomorrow, Tommy.”

(He doesn’t leave the bed for night, either. They squish onto the single mattress and make out a little more before falling asleep, and Newt doesn’t wake up once from nightmares, and maybe that’s just chance, but Thomas is going to credit himself anyway. Newt certainly seems to appreciate the full night’s sleep, if the gift he gives Thomas in the morning is any indication.)


End file.
